


The First Bite

by shy_violet_soul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Child Abandonment, Fluff, Scared Dean Winchester, Scared Sam Winchester, Weechesters, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shy_violet_soul/pseuds/shy_violet_soul
Summary: A small country store, the best pie in the county, and a boy looking for work.  The story of how Dean fell in love with pie.





	The First Bite

**Author's Note:**

> I read a post on Tumblr that talked about why adult-Dean always chipmunk’s his food and has a deeply passionate love affair with pie. And came up with this piece of heartbreak.
> 
> A huge “thank you” to the kind and phenomenal writers, @thesassywallflower and @percywinchester27 (tumblr) for being my betas! The feedback from your talented perspectives is so appreciated!
> 
> This is a work of fiction based upon characters created and owned by the CW. My work is not to be published without my written permission.

(1st ever moodboard by me.  Photo cred. to owners via Google)

**************************************************************************************************

**Effingham, IL ~ 1988-ish**

Knees creaking as he descended the stairs, Louis “Louie” Moenning ambled over to the window of the store, and switched on the “Open” light.  Just like clockwork, Owen Weis drove by and honked his hello as he sped down US 40 to work, Louie waved his reply as he unlocked the front door.  Coffee maker fired up, popcorn machine plugged in, Louie worked his way down his morning punch list.

Once Effingham got all modern and built a Walmart, business at his little store had taken a real hit. But, then that Schultz fellow helped build the giant ‘Cross of the Crossroads’ out on Highway 70, and he had enough tourist traffic to keep the lights on. Things had been pretty quiet lately, though.  Louie paused to enjoy the view of blue sky as he looked northeast towards town. Vic and Ada Lovelace had stopped by yesterday with a couple of bushels of apples from their trees. Vic Lovelace was by no means a reliable source of information, but Louie always enjoyed chatting with him.

_ “Heard George Prescott down at the diner say they’re having that same problem at St. Anthony’s again.  Up on the mama floor. Lights won’t stay on, and he’s checked the wiring top to bottom. I’m telling you, it’s a spirit.  It’s a spirit from that fire in ‘49,” the old coot insisted, slapping his knee for emphasis.  _

_ Nodding exaggeratedly, Louie poured the other man a cup of coffee.  “Sure, Vic. Probably one of them nuns. Better watch she don’t smack you with an invisible ruler for snitching my caramels when you think I’m not lookin’.”   _

A mischievous grin touched Louie’s face when he recalled Vic’s scandalized expression.  He didn’t buy into all that nonsense, and no spirit had been thieving his candy for years.

“Don’t forget to water the plants!” The reminder echoed down the stairs from the living quarters above.  Louie just grunted as he bent down to unlock the safe. Violet and her plants. He swore that woman had a whole green hand, not just a thumb, with her knack for growing things.  The old bell jingled a welcome as the front door opened, and Louie kicked the safe shut and stood.

A wiry young boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, stood just inside, holding the stack of the day’s newspapers Marchie had dropped off for him.  Serious green eyes stared up at him as he keeled back from the strain. 

“Well, thank you for hefting those, let me take ‘em.  You’re a might young to be handling that,” Louie hustled to take the load from the youngster.

“Thank you, sir, but I got it.  Where do you want ‘em?” Louie nodded in recognition at a man’s pride, staying just close enough to grab something if need be.

“Right over there by that metal rack, if you don’t mind, son.  Yep, that’s perfect,” praised the old man as the lad carefully plopped them down, scooting the string-tied stack as close to the rack as possible.  Faded blue eyes squinted down at him, and Louie offered him a smile. “You must be new around here. Think I know all the kids.”

“Just passing through.  You mind if I look around?”

Another smile touched Louie’s face.  “Not at all. I got me a few comic books at the end of the magazines down there,” he pointed.  The youngster’s mouth pulled up at the corner in a half-smile before he turned towards the aisles.  Rounding the counter, Louie watched the little stranger for a moment. He was in the grocery aisle, staring studiously where Louie knew the chips, crackers, beef jerky, and the like were displayed.  He shook his head fondly as he squatted back down by the safe - growing boys are always hungry. 

The front door bell rang again, snagging Louie’s attention.  A fellow walked in, worn quilted vest tossed over a flannel button-down.  A ragged ball cap, so faded the logo couldn’t be read, sat on top of longish dirty blond hair - a mullet, Marchie would have called the cut.  Louie could smell the stale cigarettes on him from here. From the bloodshot eyes and hand tremors, he figured the stranger was beyond hungover.

“Help you, sir?” Louie called out, startling the man.

“You got coffee?” His shoulders hunched behind the query as he shifted on his feet awkwardly.  Louie hesitated a moment before lifting his chin towards the machine.

“Brewing right now.  First pot might be done.”  The stranger turned, hesitated, then fidgeted his way to the coffee pot.  Louie watched him for another moment; when he did nothing more than pour himself a cup of coffee, he returned to his task.  His fingers hurried to open the safe to get the cash drawer, his memory seeing the gun he kept under the counter.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his glance up - the hungover stranger stood at the end of the counter, staring at him.  The hairs on the back of Louie’s neck prickled, and he cursed his bad knee when he couldn’t get his feet under him to stand.

“That coffee’ll be fifty cents.  If you want to come around this way to the front, I can help you there,” Louie offered, a clear warning in his voice.  The stranger didn’t move, just stood silently, coffee dribbling over his shaking fingers to the floor. “Mister, you step around here to the front, and you can pay and get on the road.”

Just when Louie was about to scramble for that gun, the rack of chewing gum and breath mints on top of the counter toppled over, slamming into the stranger.  As he cursed and grappled with the metal stand, cellophane packages raining in all directions, Louie climbed to his feet and pulled the gun free, placing it visibly on the counter.  

“Sorry about that, Pops.  By the way, I forgot to tell you.  Chief Nelson from the PD said he’d be stopping by at 8:30 this morning to drop off that book.  I told him that would be okay.”

Swallowing past his suddenly dry throat, Louie nodded gently at his green-eyed back up.

“That’s just fine, sport.  We’ll clean this up in a minute.  Why don’t you call down to the station and ask Nelson to join us for breakfast?”  Before the lad could reply, the stranger bolted for the door and ran. Louie took a moment to calm his afib, then turned to look at the boy.

“Young man, you just helped me in a mighty big way.  Thank you.”

Thin little shoulders shrugged as he studied his shoes.

“It was no big deal.  He needed to get bent.”

Louie wasn’t sure what ‘get bent’ meant, but he nodded in agreement.  “Well, it was a heckfire lot more than ‘no big deal’. I figure that fella planned to rob me.”

His little saviour stared out the door after the ne’er-do-well, shaking his head.  “Humans suck.”

Chuckling, Louie carefully stepped over the spilled packs of gum and righted the metal rack back onto the counter.  Without a word, the lad started scooping handfuls of gum to the counter while Louie grumbled to himself as he scooted the rack into place.  When he turned back, he smiled to see all that gum being studiously stacked by brand and flavor. Louie watched the young man for another moment before reached down and scooped up the cash drawer, fishing out a shiny silver dollar as he wedged it in the register.  He smacked the coin down by the boy’s elbow with a flourish, then extended his hand out.

“Young man, I don’t know your name, but I’m Louie Moenning.  I’d be pleased to shake your hand, and I hope you’ll take that as a thanks for your help this morning.”  The kid surprised him by looking at his hand first, then the money, before putting his own smaller hand in his.  The strength and calluses in his grip further surprised Louie.

“Dean Winchester.  You don’t have to pay me for that.  Just doing what’s right.”

Such grown up wisdom in such a little fella.  “Well, Dean, consider it payment for hauling in that newspaper and stacking up the gum nice n’ neat.  Hard to get any help from young people these days.” Louie busied himself setting the packages back on the rack; from the corner of his eye, he watched Dean stare at the silver dollar, then glance back towards the grocery section that had earlier engrossed him before he joined in restocking the gum.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Violet on her way down.  He grinned when his bride appeared in the white dress with big yellow flowers he’d given her for her birthday.  She complained she looked like old wallpaper, but he thought she looked just like Princess Di. Wonder if Prince Charles ever got the glare Vi was shooting at him now?

“You didn’t water the plants, did you?” she accused, hands on her hips.

“Now, Vi, I had a customer, and this young man was kind enough to help me.”  

Violet’s brown eyes began to sparkle as she smiled.  “Louie! Have you finally changed your mind about hiring some help?”

He blinked at her in confusion.  “No, no, Violet, I-”

“He looks like a strapping young man, too.  Think you can handle boxes when orders come in?”

Dean snapped to attention.  “Yes, ma’am. I can carry boxes just fine.”

“Violet-”

“How are you at sweeping?”

“Real good.  I can sweep really good.”

“Vi-”

“Stocking shelves?”

“Violet!” Louie frowned at his wife.  This was getting away from him. Yes, they’d talked about him hiring a helper, but he didn’t know this boy, helpful or not.

The boy in question turned those green eyes back to him, earnest and hopeful.  “Mr. Moenning, I’d be happy to help you out for a few days. I can be here at sunup, and I’ll work till dark.  Whatever job you need me to do. You don’t have to pay me much.”

Shooting his wife an exasperated look, Louie folded his arms over his chest.  “How much you figure ‘not much’ is, son?”

Dean looked down at the floor, then cast a brief glance over his shoulder towards the shelves behind him.  Neither of the Moennings saw his fingers twitch as he counted. “Two dollars and thirty-four cents.”

Both Moennings blinked at the strangely specific amount, then turned to regard each other.  Louie pursed his lips when he saw the mulish set to Violet’s chin, and sighed.

“Mr. Winchester, I’ll tell you what.  You go out front and water Miss Violet’s plants for me, and I’ll pay you that two dollars and thirty-four cents.  Alright?”

“Yes, sir.”  The boy hurried out the door, and Louie turned to his wife.

“Violet Iola Moenning.  What do you think you’re up to?”

“Louis Daniel Moenning.  Your promised me you would hire a helper.  And one shows up practically gift wrapped.”

“But, Vi, we don’t even know this boy.  He said he was just passing through. For all we know, his family could be mixed up in all kinds of...ne’er-do-well stuff!” Louie sputtered at his wife.  She scoffed at him as she stepped forward to peer out the window.

“Nonsense!  Just look at him.  He’s even got the water pressure turned down so the water doesn’t plow into the dirt.  That little man is being real gentle with my petunias. Better than you’ve ever been,” she scolded with a side eye in his direction.  He only harrumphed as he came around to join her studying the boy. 

“Well…,” Louie watched as Dean finished up watering, and began carefully coiling the hose - more so than he was wont to, he had to admit.  “He was mighty helpful this morning. Thinks good on his feet.”

Sensing victory, Violet patted his arm gently as she wrapped her other arm about his waist.  “And since he’s not staying long, it would just be for a few days. Like a test shot those car salesmen talk about.”

“Test  _ drive _ , Vi.”

His wife only sniffed.  “He may need to make arrangements, so you pay him his money and tell him to come back tomorrow.”

Knowing he’d well and truly lost, Louie only sighed as Violet took herself back up stairs.  The bell jingled again as Dean returned, and Louie had to smile at the hopeful look on his face.  Moving back to his spot behind the counter, he opened the register.

“Well, now, Mr. Winchester.  For your help this morning, here is two dollars and thirty-four cents.  You go on now and enjoy your day, and I’ll see you back here 8 o’clock sharp.  Deal?”

“Deal.”  Green eyes crinkled a bit as Dean grinned at him before he studied the money in his hand.  “Would it be okay if I bought a couple things?”

“It’s your money, son.  You’ve earned it.” Without a word, Dean spun and hustled toward the shelves.  Certain he’d be returning with a comic book, Louie shut the register and finished piling the gum and mints where they belonged.  The boy returned in a quick minute, carefully placing a box of Ritz crackers, a small can of Vienna sausages, and a can of Coke on the counter.  Almost proudly, he slid the silver dollar from earlier and the newer coins and $1 note towards Louie.

“Thank you, Mr. Moenning.  I’ll be here in the morning.”  Chuckling to himself, Louie bagged up the foodstuffs for the boy and waved him out the door, watching him run west down the highway.  Growing boys and their food - he should have figured.

*************************************************************************************************

Louie guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the young Mr. Winchester was a man of his word.  What he wasn’t prepared for was how the boy gave him a heart attack by popping up in front of the door just as he was unlocking the next morning.  While he calmed his afib down, Dean proved his readiness to get to work. Newspapers were hefted in, the string pocket knifed free, and the daily dose of headlines plopped in the rack.  Louie couldn’t help the approving smile he gave the boy as he directed him to the wash closet for a broom.

That day set the pace for the next four.  Dean would be waiting on the doorstep well before 8:00am, and always got right to work - newspapers, sweeping, dusting.  Wednesday was soda truck day, and the boy dragged or pushed cases like a pro. Thursday brought Robbie with the food goods delivery, and again, he found himself impressed at the boy’s stick-to-it attitude with the bulky packages of canned goods, bottles, and the like.  

At noon, Violet brought him lunch, happily adding an extra plate for the boy.  Dean always stared at the sandwich, chips, and cookie for a moment. He’d thank Violet politely, ask if he could eat it later, and return to work when given permission.  The first two times it happened, he and Violet just shrugged at each other. The plate always stood empty by afternoon. The third time, Violet had to dash off to lunch at a friend’s, and Louie got a phone call.  The fourth time, Violet didn’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer.

The day had started rainy, with Dean surprising him with his absence from the doorstep.  Louie caught himself staring out at the highway, looking in both directions for a glimpse of the boy.

“He’s late?” Violet’s query sounded behind him.  Louie grunted his reply. “He shouldn’t be out in this rain.”

Dean was a surprisingly reticent ten year old, proving himself an expert in classic rock and hand tools, but unwilling to talk about much else.  Louie realized with a pang he didn’t even know where the boy was staying. When he turned around, Violet stood wringing her hands as she squinted into the downpour.  “He’ll be wet through when he gets here. I’ll go make something hot to drink.” She spun on her heel and hurried back upstairs.

Silently, Louie went about his normal routine - coffee maker, popcorn machine, cash drawer - 8:08am.  The quiet store, so familiar from before, seemed altogether  _ too _ quiet without the serious little worker bee of the last three days.  The elder Moenning shook his head and ambled to the wash closet for the ‘wet’ rug.  Any customers today were sure to track in water, needed to give them somewhere to wipe their boots.  As he struggled with the bulky, awkward floor mat, the bell jingled.

“That you, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Glad you made it!  I’ll be right there!” he called out.  No answer came from the boy as Louie finished wrestling the mat out, carrying it to lean against the counter for a moment.  Dean wasn’t just inside the door as he expected; a slight scuffle-ish sound drew his attention to the back. Dean appeared, looking like a half-drowned pup, wet wedges of dark hair dripping into his eyes.  He’d tried to keep the worst of the rain off with a trash bag, but Louie could hear the squelching of his soaked shoes from here.

“My goodness, boy!  Am I glad to see you.  You didn’t have to come all this way today!  Couldn’t your dad drive you?” Louie hurried to drag out the old space heater from under the counter, ignoring the complaints of the coils as they heated up while he peeled the boy’s sodden jacket off of him.  

“He’s working.  ‘S alright, I wanted to be here.”

“Louie, is that Dean?”

“Yes, Vi, he’s here.”  Muted exclamations filtered down, staccatoed with Violet’s footsteps above them.  Moments later, she pounded down the stairs as Louie tried to urge Dean to kick off his shoes. 

“Heavens to goodness, child!  You’re soaked through! Here - you sit right there and drink this.  I made you my special hot chocolate.”

Dean’s shoulders hunched, his hands bunched with discomfort.  “I don’t want to make any trouble. I’m fine. I tracked a bunch a’ water in, I’ll go get the mop.”  When Louie and Violet wouldn’t rest till he’d drunk the beverage, the boy chugged it in four swallows and bolted for the mop without a word.

The rain kept customers away.  After he wrung out his socks and shoes and studiously mopped up the tracked-in water, Louie had Dean tackle expired products. After setting him up with empty boxes for the refuse, Louie started a deep clean of the popcorn machine.  It gave the older man a chance to think and watch. 

No one could ever complain about the determination with which the boy went after each chore,  not one too menial or too dirty. He attacked the pesky dustpan-leftovers line and straightened magazines with a precision he remembered from his Marine uncle.  No complaints, no stopping to rest, just a serious gaze and busy hands. Maybe too serious.

Ready to give credit where credit was due to the father who clearly taught Dean an impressive work ethic, as Louie watched the boy today, he was more ready to give him a piece of his mind.  Faint shadows flagged the boy’s eyes, and more than once, he paused from his work. Catching his breath? A small hand rubbed between his eyes. Headache? Louie wasn’t sure, but he did know whoever this Winchester was, he wasn’t taking care of his son.

When Violet reappeared with lunch, she’d done some extra fussing.  Their ham and cheese sandwiches had an L and a D carved in the bread, the chips arranged in a circle around them.

“Here we are!” she sang out, handing both working men a plate.  Louie pressed a kiss to her cheek, offering her a warm smile as he sat down.

“You’ve been reading Betty Crocker again, haven’t you, Vi?”  He chuckled when she shooed him away, turning to face the boy as he tried to slink away. 

“Now, young man, you’ve been working like a fiend messing with all those cans and boxes.  I insist you take a break and eat your lunch right now. I can’t have you gettin’ sick on me!” she exclaimed, urging the boy to the folding chair she’d set out for him.  Louie nodded his approval as he gestured with his sandwich to Dean.

“Come on, Dean.  Break time. Work’ll still be there after we eat.”  Dean squirmed a bit under their watchful gazes, then took a bite.  Satisfied, Violet turned to her husband.

“Ada’s going to drop by my Avon order today, if she wants to get out in this rain.”

“Whaddya get?”

“Just a lipstick.  I was out of Bold Orchid.”

Louie shook his head as he chewed around a chip.  “You mean, the pink one?”

“Louis Moenning, you have no fashion sense.”

“I agree, dear.  It’s a good thing I have you.”  When Dean scooted off his chair to amble towards the back, they paid him no mind - he’d been told time and again to help himself to a soda.  

“They got any more apples ready?”

“I hope so, I put the last of them in a pie for after dinner.”

Dean reappeared, chewing the last of his sandwich as he offered his empty plate to Violet.  “Thank you, Mrs. Moenning.”

She patted the boy’s cheek fondly.  “Of course, hun! I love to see clean plates!”

He shrugged his shoulders a bit awkwardly, turning to Louie.  “Mr. Moenning, the coffee machine stopped working again. Want me to unplug it and get the tools?”

Louie grumbled to himself, telling Dean, “yeah, let’s take another look at it.”

Violet smacked a pink/Bold Orchid kiss to his forehead, taking the plates back upstairs.  While Dean dug in the closet for the tool box, Louie approached the coffee machine. As he stared accusingly at the cursed contraption, a movement to his right caught his attention.  Louie glanced over at the display of umbrellas - one must have fallen and opened, for the dome of the thing showed out towards the store. With a careful lean, Louie snagged the item, wiggling it when it appeared to get stuck on something on its way.

A pair of huge hazel eyes stared up at him, startling Louie something fierce.

“What the...who are you?” he stumbled out, reaching down to tug the youngster to his feet.  Small, swimming in a too-big rain jacket, the little curly top looked absolutely petrified. His bottom lip trembled, his hands shook - holding a ham and cheese sandwich with a D carved in the bread.  Flummoxed beyond description, Louie took a step back. “What is going on here?” 

In a blink, the little mister mustered up a scowl, trying to look mean.  Then, he squared himself up into a miniature little boxer’s stance.

Louie didn’t remember a lot about the next few moments except pain, shouts, more pain, crying, and stars and black dots in his vision.  Gradually, Violet’s voice threaded its way into the mess.

“Louie!  Louie, what happened?  Dean, who is this boy? It’s alright, hun, don’t cry - Louie if you don’t open your eyes this instant, I’m calling an ambulance!”

Growling under his breath, Louie tried to roll to his side, cupping his throbbing manhood gingerly.  “Don’t call an ambulance!” he barked out. After another moment of Violet’s whispered reassurances, Louie dragged in a deep breath as a different voice came through.

“I’m so sorry!  I’m sorry! He didn’t mean to, it was my fault!  I’m responsible, please don’t punish him. I’m sorry!”

Dean.  It was Dean’s voice.  Louie forced his eyes open and saw his serious little soldier clutching the pint-sized boxer to him, tears running down his face.  While Violet steadied him, Louie made his way to his feet, the pain in his crotch still keeping him hunched over.

“Alright, everybody,” he declared, still short of breath.  “Alright, let’s everybody calm down. Violet, why don’t you go get a couple more chairs?  I think we all gotta do some talking.”

Five minutes later, the four of them sat facing each other.  The littler little boy was wedged firmly against Dean, Dean’s arm tight around his shoulders.  The bedraggled ham sandwich had long ago lost the fight, laying in limp chunks from the youngster’s chubby fingers.  When Violet had offered to take it, the boy had clutched it closer; Louie knew the heartbreak in his wife’s eyes mirrored his own.

“Dean, why don’t you introduce us to this young man?” Louie started, adjusting the icy liter bottle of beer against his abused parts.  Pale, solemn, Dean tightened his arm around the little boy’s shoulders.

“This is Sam.  He’s my brother.”  The boy’s voice croaked with the words.  A ten-year old’s terror trembled his chin for a moment, belied by the protective ferocity glowering from him.  Louie nodded while Violet tried a winning smile at little Sam. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sam.  Sam, I’m Louie Moenning, and this is my wife, Violet.”  Sam ducked his chin in answer, looking for all the world like he was trying to disappear.  Louie thought another moment before he spoke again. “I’m sorry I scared you earlier. You packed me a real good punch.  Did your brother teach you to do that? Hit a man in the privates if you think he’s going to hurt you?”

A beat of silence, then the little boy nodded.  “He said they’d go down like a potato and leave me alone,” came the tiny answer.

Louie had to smile at that, chagrined as it was.  “Well, Dean was right. I sure went down like a potato.  And, again - I’m sorry I scared you.”

Serious hazel eyes blinked at him before he offered Louie a nod, then looked up at his brother.  “Dean, is that the lady who made the sandwiches you brought me?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

Sam turned a shy smile to the lady.  “They were real good, even with the cheese.  Dean said I could pick it off and just eat the ham.  Was that okay?”

Louie blinked at the question, watching Violet’s head tilt a bit in confusion as she cleared her throat.

“That was absolutely okay.  Now - I know the sandwich you’ve got there has cheese on it, and it looks a little tired.  Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll make you a new one with no cheese?” she asked gently, holding a hand out to him.  Sam shrank back against Dean’s side, looking up at him fearfully. “Oh, don’t you worry, hun. Dean’s coming for a new sandwich, too.”

Astonishment blinked from Dean’s green eyes as his gaze shot between the two Moennings.

“No, I - I gotta get back to work.  You don’t pay me for sitting around.”  

Memories flipped through Louie, awareness stitching sadness behind.  The very specific $2.34 and the carefully chosen groceries. The disappearing sandwiches.  The absent father. The clear fatigue and headache from earlier. Dean’s actions were more than just protective over his brother.  He was  _ raising _ his brother - earning money, buying food, sacrificing in a man-sized way from his little boy heart.

Clearing his throat once, twice, Louie tried to smile.  “That’s alright, Dean. You’ve earned a break. You go on and help Mrs. Moenning upstairs.”

As soon as the three disappeared upstairs, Louie closed the store up.  There was more important work to be done.

******************************************************************************************************

If little Sam’s words had broken Violet’s heart, those shared at their dinner table stomped all over the leftover bits.  Sam, who she learned just turned five, often lifted hazel eyes to Dean, waiting for his nod before answering questions or making a move.  She’d made a double-batch of her famous Sloppy Joe sandwiches, along with crinkle cut French fries, pickles, tall glasses of chocolate milk, and no cheese for Sam.  Gradually, the littlest Winchester warmed up to her. He chattered about how strong Dean was when he piggybacked him to and from the motel seven whole times now. About all the ‘radical’ bugs he’d found under the big tree by their fence where he waited each day for Dean.  How Dean taught him his numbers to the Scooby-doo song. 

Dean, on the other hand, sat as silent as stone.  He wouldn’t touch one morsel of food until after he saw his brother’s plate filled and several bites down the hatch.  After the hushed conversation she’d had with Louie, Violet wondered when Dean had last had a  _ first _ bite of something without having to worry about whether his brother was hungry.  When the sandwich platter was empty, and the little faces were pleasingly sauce-smudged, Violet ducked into the kitchen and returned with the apple pie she’d baked earlier.

“Now, I hope you boys like pie!  My Violet makes the best in the county.  She won a blue ribbon for her apple pie,” Louie praised.  She blew him a kiss as she began to slice.

“Do I like pie?” Sam whispered to his brother as Dean wiped his face.

“You will, don’t worry,” came the confident whisper in reply.  Louie sent his bride a proud smile as she placed a huge slice in front of each boy.  Curiously, she handed only Dean a fork before she continued slicing for the two of them.

“You go ahead, Dean, tell me what you think,” Violet encouraged nonchalantly, seemingly very involved in her cutting.  Dean looked over at Sam, who simply watched his brother disarmingly. The older boy looked downright uncomfortable before turning to his brother.

“Here, Sammy, I’ll take the next fork.”

“That’s alright, Dean, I’m counting on you as my expert taste tester.  You show your brother how eating apple pie is done.” Violet served up another slice with aplomb, and Louie quickly realized her endgame.  He busied his hands holding the pie plate for Violet, both of them watching Dean from the corners of their eyes.

Tentatively, Dean dug the tines into the pastry, coming away with a healthy chunk of golden fruit.  The syrupy goodness, delicately dusted with spices, coated the apple luxuriously. When Sam nudged his elbow with a, “go on, show me!”, Dean carefully took the bite.  As the flavors unraveled in his mouth, Louie couldn’t bite back the grin when the boy’s eyes drifted shut.

“Mmmm,” he murmured absently.  Violet smiled, radiant in her glee, as she handed Sam a fork with a flourish.

“There you go, young man!” she crowed.  “Show us what you learned from a master pie taste tester!”  Smiles abounded across the table as everyone enjoyed the dessert; and if Dean’s smile was a trifle brighter, a bit more grateful, no one was the wiser.

While Violet had the boys help her clear the table, the doorbell downstairs summoned Louie to the little-used “front door”.  Ada Lovelace stood there, bag in hand, smiling up at the bearded man behind her holding the umbrella.

“Ada, hello!  Come to sell my beautiful wife beauty products she don’t need?”  

The woman trilled a laugh as she lifted the bag.  “And bring you apples! Louie, this man has a question for you about someone.  Robert, was it?”

“Bobby, ma’am.  Bobby Singer.” The newcomer paused as Louie ushered them both in the entry way out of the rain.  He removed his hat, showing a head of thinning, reddish hair that matched his beard as he shook hands with Louie in greeting.  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Moenning, but I’m looking for a couple of boys. Man down at the Field & Dream Motel back a mile or so said they headed this way this morning.  Both have dark hair, kinda’ quiet.”

Louie squinted at the man, studying him briefly before he gestured up the stairs.  “Come on up, both of you. Violet’s got coffee and pie on.”

The quiet Mr. Singer hesitated a moment before heading up the stairs.  He kept his back to the wall, not entering further into the room while Ada unbuttoned her jacket.

“Violet!  Company,” he called.  The clinking of supper clean-up stopped as Violet murmured something before she stepped into the doorway.

“Ada!  You didn’t have to come out in this weather!”

“Oh, it was no trouble.  Saw you’d closed up, everything alright?” The shorter woman’s gaze flicked between the Moennings curiously.  

“Right as rain, just decided to close early for a good meal.”  After Louie’s statement, the boys appeared, both of them pausing at the sight of the stranger.

“Uncle Bobby!” Sam shouted delightedly, running to the man.  A wide smile crinkled Dean’s eyes, relief sagging his shoulders a bit.  

“Hey, there, boys!  Good to see you!” Mr. Singer hefted Sam up to his hip, ruffling Dean’s hair affectionately.  “You ready to go?”

“Is Dad with you?” Dean wanted to know.  Louie caught the flicker of frustration on Mr. Singer’s face before he schooled his features.

“No, he asked me to come get you two and he’ll meet us at my place.”

Nothing could hide the disappointment that wiped away the smiles from the boys.  After an awkward moment, Violet clapped her hands. 

“Boys, Mr. Moenning and I can’t possibly eat all that pie.  Come help me pack it up for you. I’ve got some Tupperware we can use.”  

The three adults watched Violet lead the boys away before Ada turned to Louie.

“I need to be running.  Would you give this to Violet?” When Louie nodded his affirmative, she handed the bag over.  “Oh! Before I forget - did you hear what happened in town today?”

“No, no customers in today.”

“Well.  First of all, after the most bizarre chase through the hospital, the police caught a man who had been lurking outside the nursery.  He was going to steal a baby, can you imagine? All the lights kept going out up there again, doors kept getting stuck, it was a mess.  By the time it was all over, the only door that was stuck was to the room he’d run into. The fool was raving like a lunatic that someone kept trying to attack him.  He’s in jail as we speak. But that’s not the only thing!”

Louie shook his head, baffled at the gall of the perpetrator.  “Well, my goodness, Ada! What could top that tale?”

The woman leaned forward, intent on her news.  “The groundskeeper at the cemetery found a grave disturbed.  And not just disturbed - completely dug up! Someone broke into the casket and burned that poor soul!”

Disgusted and mystified, Louie frowned at the woman.  “Who on earth would do such a thing?”

Ada shook her head, just as baffled.  “I don’t know. And the saddest part? It was one of the nurses who died in the hospital fire of ‘49.”

Louie snorted at that.  “Oh, Lord. Don’t tell Vic that!  He’s for sure that hospital is haunted!”

“Haunted,” Ada scoffed at her husband’s notion.  “It is sad, though. That grave was Fern Riley’s.  She’s the nurse that died in the fire trying to protect the babies.”

Silence fell at the announcement; the day St. Anthony’s Hospital burned had been a sad one.  Everyone in the small town had been affected - everyone knew many, if not all, of the 77 people who died.  Ada sighed, then rebuttoned her coat.

“I best get back to Vic.  Tell Violet she can write me a check later for the lipstick.”

“Her pink lipstick?” Louie smirked as he ushered the woman to the stairs.

“Bold Orchid, Louis, get it right,” she sassed.  Louie waved her on her way before turning back to Robert Singer.  The man had a strange stillness about him - like someone who knew a lot more than what they’d ever say.  Before Louie could ask, voices and footsteps told him Vi and the boys were headed this way.

“You from around here, Mr. Singer?”

The other man shook his head.  “South Dakota.”

“You know this Winchester fella?”

“Enough.”

Watching Dean hold the green Tupperware of pie like it was the Holy Grail, Louie fixed a stern eye on Singer and dropped his voice.

“You tell him from me that he’s doing a piss-poor job of being a father, leaving his children hungry and fending for themselves.”

It was a small comfort to watch Singer’s gaze dart to the boys in shock, then curdle with disgusted anger.

“I’ll be more than happy to.”

A chorus of happy chatter from the boys accompanied them as everyone trooped down to the store.  While Dean reminded Sam to make his thank you’s and good-bye’s to Mrs. Moenning, Louie popped open the register before coming around the counter for his own farewell.

He smiled at Sam’s well-trained seriousness as he pumped his hand in a man’s handshake, looking for Dean’s approving smile afterwards.  As Dean stepped towards him, Louie placed a warm hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him.

“Well, Mr. Winchester.  You were a man of your word.  You did every job that came your way, and more besides. Minimum wage is $3.35 an hour.  You worked for me four days here, and you did a man’s work every hour. So, here’s $110.00.  There’s your wages for hours worked. You earned it.”

If the boy’s eyes got any wider, they were going to fall out of his skull.  The boy’s throat bobbed once, twice, as he swallowed.

“I - I - I can’t accept this, Mr. Moenning, it’s too much!” Dean frantically shoved the money back towards him, but Louie raised his hands and stepped back.

“No.  We had a man’s agreement.  You’d gone anywhere else, they’d a’ paid you minimum wage.  Ain’t that right, Mr. Singer?”

The man’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again.  “Mr. Moenning’s right, Dean. If he says you worked the hours, then he can pay you a wage he sees is fair.”

“Yes, sir.  Thirty-two hours at $3.35 an hour - you take that $110.00 and we’ll call it square.  Deal?” Louie held a hand out to the boy; he stared at it for a long moment before he looked up at the older man.  Tears shimmered in the green eyes as he shook his head firmly. Gratefully.

“Thank you, sir.  Th-thank you.”

Louie smiled at him as Violet stepped up to his side.  They looped their arms about the other’s waists as Singer led the boys to the door.  Sam waved a smiling good-bye to them as Dean paused at the door.

“Thank you, sir.  Ma’am. I mean...thank you.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Louie felt Violet tighten her arm around him comfortingly.  “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” he told the ten-year old boy. Just like that first day, a corner of his mouth kicked up a bit in a half-smile.  With a little wave, he followed his brother out the door. The roar of a truck engine sounded, and they were gone.

The Moennings never saw the boys again, not that they expected to.  Whenever it rained, or the coffee machine broke, they’d remember the two fondly.  They wondered if Sam still had all that hair, if Dean was still a natural with tools, if both of them were still so serious. They always shared a quiet smile when they had apple pie.  No words needed to be spoken as the memory of serious green eyes threaded between them. They both hoped that whenever there was pie on the table for the Winchester boys, wherever he was, Dean always got the first bite.

  
  


** The hospital fire mentioned here is a true story.  St. Anthony’s Hospital in Effingham burned down April 4, 1949.  Among the 77 lives tragically lost - patients, employees, nuns, a priest - was 22yo nurse Fern Riley.  A nurse in the maternity ward, she was heard shouting, “I have to stay with my babies!” as she ran towards the nursery, where her body was later found.


End file.
